


The Politics of Composure

by yeetyeetedyote



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, Medical Procedures, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Top Bucky Barnes, giving blood is awful and great
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:42:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23981017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeetyeetedyote/pseuds/yeetyeetedyote
Summary: A modern AU where Steve Rogers is a troubled fire fighter doing his best and Bucky Barnes is a nurse with a *ahem* - troubled past - trying to take care of his community. Perhaps they both need someone to take care of them instead."Barnes hears him approach and turns around with a smile. “I can’t believe it. They hazed me with a puker. I didn’t even know that was a thing.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 12
Kudos: 90





	1. The Newbie

“You ever think about just tying one of those 40-gallon trash bags around your neck for this?”

Steve sneaks a glare out from underneath his splayed fingers towards Sam who is sitting smugly in the plastic chair provided. Ignoring Steve, he grabs a National Geographic magazine in feigned interest from the side table. “What? I’m serious man – if you were to puke in it and pass out on us, at least you’d have something to cushion your fall. And then I could take pictures of it to hang in the office back at the station.”

Steve’s blatantly shooting daggers at his best friend now and Sam suddenly becomes deeply interested in the migration patterns of sea turtles. 

“Sometimes I think you’re just constantly thinking of all the ways to blackmail me. You know how I get around this stuff.”

Sam takes a moment to glance over the magazine and back at Steve, who honestly looks like he is slowly beginning to melt into his own chair given the sheer amount of sweat plastering his forehead. “Look dude, you know I don’t mean harm. I’m just trying to lighten the mood before you kiss unconsciousness in there.”

Steve sighs and wipes his clammy hands against his jeans. Water. Why did he forget his reusable water bottle? “I know. Thanks for coming with me again.”

He looks around the small room at the blood and plasma donation center to gauge the audience that will see his monthly mock death display. To his right, an old lady with curly white hair has her head leaned back against the wall, mouth slightly open as she seems to be taking a nap.

“How…” Steve starts before he scans the rest of the place. A woman appearing to be around his own age is against the far-left wall with her leg propped up in her squeaky plastic chair, eyes glazed over as she reads something on her phone. A couple of chairs to her right and closer to Sam are two middle-aged men engaged in a heated whispering match. The TV over the check-in desk that everyone is clustered around quietly details the upcoming weekend weather and potential events in Savannah. Everything is incredibly and infuriatingly normal, even if Steve can already hear his guts tensing and asking him over and over again, _“Why? Why do you keep doing this to us?”_.

“You know why.” Steve hisses quietly as he checks his watch for the time. 4:00 pm.

“Why what?” Sam prompts, the National Geographic placed neatly back onto the side table. His forehead wrinkles when he finally takes a long look at Steve’s clear distress – the sweaty shirt, hair, slightly green tint to his lightly tanned skin. “Hey…” Sam starts, before reaching over to Steve and pushing a stray sweaty hair out from in front of his baby blue eyes, “we can always come back another time if you need us to. Say the word, and we can bolt out of here and go for a drink if you want.”

Steve smiles lightly and shakes his head in submission, “We’ve been here for awhile Sam, I’m not going to make you come back next week. Plus, it’s Friday and that means I can recover a little bit longer as long as our entire city doesn’t decide to try and burn down over the weekend.” _That_ prompts a grin from his best friend.

“I’ll make sure to tell the arsonists and God to stay at home today. Steve Rogers and his stubborn morals have to recover from his minimally invasive procedure. Sure thing boss.” Steve actually chuckles this time picturing Sam trying to pray fires away for his own sake; he’d probably have to take him up on that drink offer actuall-

A woman with a tight blond ponytail, thin wire-framed glasses, and a bulky clipboard creaks open the door to the waiting room and calls for the 3:45 (naturally late) scheduled group to “come on back”. Steve tries not to gulp for air like a fish out of water and takes an embarrassingly long time to unglue his sweaty hands and back from the plastic chairs as he resigns to his fate. Sam is already standing, eyebrow cocked, arms crossed, mildly frowning at Steve’s precipitation.

“Seriously man, we can go-“ he starts before Steve stomps ahead towards the open door to the group medical room and the uninterested administrative nurse.

Steve shakily turns to greet the nurse beside him to figure out which phlebotomist has been doomed with his anxiety ridden self. “Hi Miss…” Steve tries desperately to find her ID badge, but she beats him to it. “Sharon, Sharon Carter. I assume you’re our regular Steve Rogers?” He shakes his head yes and offers a light smile.

“Does my green complexion give it away?”

Sharon’s stone façade seems to crack a little and her eyes brighten in amusement. “To be honest, it’s a very impressive shade and we don’t have a lot to talk about around here. There’s a reason we recommend that our most impressive donors come for the last wave.”

Sam scoffs behind Steve, “Impressive?” Sharon turns to blink at him. “I thought Tom Brady, or stem cell research was impressive. Not so sure about projectile vomiting.”

Steve’s cheeks already begin to turn a slight shade of pink and pleads with his eyes towards Sharon to tell him where to go sit down before he becomes too tempted to embarrass Sam by puking at the door.

“Maybe you should try it sometime.” She cracks at Sam, smirking. From behind his shoulder, Steve can hear his mouth open in protest as she quickly ushers them over to their neighboring padded lounge chairs.

“Did she really just best both of us?” Sam whispers as she pads away on the tiled floor in her blue sneakers to assist the older woman that was half asleep next to Steve earlier.

“I think so. Though you seem to be okay with that…” he starts, before throwing an accusing look over shoulder at Sam.

Sam throws his hands up in the air in exasperation as he plops down in the chair to the right of Steve. “Seriously? I wasn’t flirting.”

Steve just stares at him and blinks for an entire minute before Sam groans in defeat, crossing his arms and looking around at the other nurses in the room. “Okay, she’s kinda pretty in a “I can kick your ass in a fight” type of way I suppose,” he whispers, “now shut up Captain Pit Stains.”

Steve doesn’t even get a chance to look down at his body which he knows is slowly turning him into a wet t-shirt contest contender before he hears the dreaded yet familiar squeak of tennis shoes approaching his chair side. At this point, he begins to wonder if he’ll even make it to the end of the session this time around as a cold chill reverberates down his ramrod straight spine, his sweaty hands beginning to shake, stomach gurgling in protest of his weak lunch and the inevitable upheaval of it all.

It’s annoying, really. You’d think that after so many sessions, so many months of pushing himself to go donate, the anxiety would drift away, or even just lessen. Steve even got the entire fire station in on the gig, rotating once or twice a month in groups to go donate to their community. He wondered if sometimes, if they saved people twice – both from the fires and in the hospital after critical impacts. As far fetched as it seemed, that potential provided a sliver of motivation and courage to keep going. Steve would always make small sacrifices in terms of personal comfort -

“Mr. Rogers?” A deep baritone voice prompts him. Steve’s eyes and mind jump out of his mild self loathing to see who has been summoned to trigger his downfall this afternoon. He is greeted by a man with piercing silver blue eyes shrouded in dark circles, a tightly pulled back bun full of blackish auburn locks, and arms carrying medical supplies that are _way too big to be in that shirt_.

Steve is so stunned by the newcomer that he forgets all aspects of fight or flight (for a moment). “That’s me.”

“I’m James Barnes. I’ve been told that you donate a lot so I’m sure you know the drill but I’d like to remind you-“ It’s at this moment that Nurse Barnes begins to pull on his latex gloves with a threatening snap, which sends Steve laying back farther into the chair. He’s all but zoned out at this moment and decides to focus in on the Nikes that he's wearing. They’re suspiciously clean.

Distracted in his trance as his nurse rambles on, he doesn’t notice how far they have progressed until he comes slamming back into reality in time with Barnes’ fingers thumping the inside of his arm to wake up his already decently plump veins.

“Don’t have to try hard to find these huh?” Barnes chuckles as he gets ready to insert the needle. And oh man Steve feels the familiar rush of blood to his heart? Ass? Something far away from his head.

“Nice shoes.” Steve mumbles as he tries to will himself away from his body.

The needle inserts and Barnes doesn’t skip a beat. “Thank you. I got them last week at the downtown outdoor outlet thing they just finished building.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees how _pale_ this (handsome) guy has gotten. Immediate bad sign. “Do you ever shop or get drinks downtown Mr. Rogers? We can talk about how bad the parking is if you want.”

Steve doesn’t say anything for a second so Barnes pulls a Hail Mary and rambles as he works. “I actually grew up about a couple of hours outside of here; pretty rural compared to here so as soon as I turned 18, I left home for awhile... scrambled for a bit, and eventually got 2 jobs in order to rent an apartment downtown. I’ve been in the same place ever since to save money while I finished up school, but I am so ready to buy my own place.” He secures the donation bag as he explains, and eases Steve into a more comfortable position. “Have you always lived here?”

For a moment Steve mentally sends himself back in time to the apartment that he grew up in with his mother. “I- No. I grew up in New York City with my mom. I lived there until… until I was 22.” His stomach unclenches a bit as he realizes that the first worst part is over. As he unglues his eyes from Barnes’ shoes and comes back to life, he shakily runs his unwired arm through his sweaty blond hair.

Nurse Barnes swallows as he takes in this poor guy face. “I’ve never been to NYC actually. The farthest north in the USA I’ve ever been would have to be D.C. Hey, do you want a cool rag?” Steve meekly nods and one corner of his mouth turns up slightly. 

Barnes heads over to the supply station where he tries to silently communicate with a look towards Sharon who is getting the next donor’s bag ready. _This is kind of weird for a regular right?_ Rather than any clarification she just smiles and shrugs. _Unhelpful._

He soon returns with the cold wet rag and passes it to Steve who is now attempting to become interested in whatever is playing on the TV on the wall. It seems to be sport recaps, and nothing of much value. “Thank you.” Steve says earnestly and wraps the rag behind his neck. The relief that follows is pleasant but a bit short lived.

He turns to his right towards Sam but he’s already got his eyes closed, headphones in, and is deeply engaged in a podcast. The nerves begin to prick at Steve’s neck yet again and he silently prays for a bigger distraction as he shifts slightly to look at the TV. When a baseball clip plays, he tries to engage Barnes before he disappears to another donor. “Do yo- do you have a favorite sport?”

This seems to put a huge smile on his nurses’ face; Barnes crosses his arms in front of himself as he moves to stand in front of the other chair to Steve’s left to look at what prompted the question. “I have lots. And I can talk anyone to death about ‘em.”

“Do you care to?” Steve says quietly, mentally stabbing himself for how pathetic he sounds right now.

Barnes presses his lips together and visually searches out Sharon who immediately give him a thumbs up as she walks over to check on his only other donor. _God bless that woman._

“Happy to. I won’t be able to tell if you start to keel over from boredom though so you might have to tell me to shut up.”

Steve actually laughs at this. _Laughs._ It reaches James’ ears and he immediately wants to hear it again – one of those hefty, straight from the belly type of chortles.

“Wouldn’t dream of it man.”

****

They talk about sports for literally the entire 20 minutes. Steve doesn’t realize how engaged he’s become until he hears someone pad over to his right side to “unplug” Sam. His stomach feels like firm Jello. Still Jello, but less of a sloppy fucking mess. 

Barnes looks at him with a sheepish smirk as the banter trails to an end. “I guess it’s time to get you ready to go,” he says and slides off the chair to start pulling on new latex gloves. Steve decides to use his newfound stability to sit up and swing his feet off the side towards his nurse.

The decision is immediately regretted as his vision tunnels slightly as Barnes begins to slide the needle out and put a cotton ball and bandages in its place. There’s no holding this back now, not even with the best banter he’s had with a stranger in quite some time. His poor lunch, lack of water, and anxiety rushes forward with their original plan.

“Trashcan.” he spits out worriedly before frantically looking for something, _anything_ to puke into. He’s so unbelievably dizzy.

Barnes is securing the blood bag before worriedly looking over at Steve and his statement. He’s unmistakably gray. _Fuck._ “Hold on.” He sprints a few feet to the other side of the room for the black bin, rushes back, tries to push it right in front of Rogers and…

Steve’s got his hands over his mouth and willing some sort of telepathic powers to materialize Barnes faster in front of him. With a final _fuck this_ , his stomach heaves and the first initial spew erupts immediately before the trashcan is in front of his face… right on Barnes brand new shoes.

There’s a “maaaaaaaaaaan” and “oh my god” coming from Sam who is now starting to stand up, completely unscathed.

Quickly, Sharon hustles over with a water bottle, ginger ale, and another wet rag. One worker hollers, “I’ll get the mop”, and a couple of sighs and chuckles make their way from the other donors.

Steve’s dry heaving now, adding in apologies between gags and coughs as James holds on to the trash can as best as possible without moving in the sick beneath his feet. Sam walks around and slaps on Steve’s back. “Impressive, huh?” He says to Sharon as she replaces the old rag with a new one.

“It always is. Even got the newbies shoes too.”

Steve emerges out of the trash can looking… alive. “I try not to disappoint.” He says slowly, reaching out for the bottle of water, uncapping it with shaky hands. James passes the can off to maintenance man and remains immobile as the guy literally mops _on_ and around his feet.

Once most of mess of gone, James silently pads towards the nearby employees only exit and slips outside. Steve immediately frowns as he watches him do this. “Why am I like this?”

Sam slaps him on the back again, grinning. “I’m sure he’s used to it man. First day though?” He proceeds to whistle in appreciation and Sharon tries to hide a smile while she finishes taking care of their donations.

After a few sips, and 10 more minutes, Steve feels infinitely more stable knowing that the process is over. Sam talks to Sharon as he starts to head to the check-out desk to leave, dragging a sluggish Steve behind him. Right before they head out, Steve insists on finding Barnes and apologizing to him first.

Sam cocks an eyebrow at him. “How long will that apology take? Don’t think I didn’t hear you all talking earlier. I could practically feel the energy flowing off the two of you.” Steve blushes a little at that and shrugs.

“I should at least offer to buy him new shoes, right?”

The eye roll is almost audible. “You? Buying shoes that are in fashion? …. just be safe and text me when you get home, so I don’t think you’ve died from low iron? I’m going to go ahead take an Uber.” They hug, say their goodbyes, and Steve has to tell him “he’s fine” five more times before Sam leaves him by his own.

Sheepishly, with a partially drank ginger ale in one hand and his paperwork in the other, he approaches Sharon and asks if she minds if he leaves the way Nurse Barnes did. She ushers him out the back door and immediately sees James dangling his legs off the short concrete ledge above the small parking lot, shoes sitting next to him and bottle of water in his hand.

Barnes hears him approach and turns around with a smile. “I can’t believe it. They hazed me with a puker. I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

Steve chuckles and blushes again, rubbing a hand on his back next guiltily. “I feel like I owe you a new pair of shoes to be honest. I thought I was going to be fine this time.”

James gapes at him slightly. “This time? You’re like this every month?”

“Yep.”

“Impressive.”

Steve smirks and looks beyond the parking lot at the distant skyline. “So I’ve been told.”

****

They sit together in silence for what feels like hours (but it's really only been 10 minutes; Steve drinks the rest of his soda and tries not to burp a ton).

“Steve?”

He turns to look at Nurse Barnes who looks… well….

“Yeah?”

“Call me Bucky. And I prefer a beer over new shoes any day.”


	2. Two Steps Back

**1 Week Later**

James Buchanan Barnes is living a lie.

To be more accurate - James Buchanan Barnes eats, sleeps, drinks, and shits lies.

If he had a dime for every time… well. He could have paid for the top of the line prosthetic limb Tony Stark donated to him after his honorable discharge.

When he looks at his reflection in his poorly lit, mediocre bathroom mirror, he sees a lie. Life and purpose somehow trying to puppeteer a corpse. An oxymoron, really. 

Closing his eyes, he grits his teeth and tries to breathe four quick breaths in before letting a long exhale out. Bucky has both faucets running to try and drown out the sound of his neighbor’s fire alarm that has been triggered for the THIRD time this week; a courtesy provided by their shitty cooking skills. He can hear them out in the hall, attempting to fan out the room with the door.

Gripping the sides of the sink, he wills his body to control the shaking and ends up making himself lightheaded due to the strain.

“Goddamnit,” he sputters to himself. With a unremarkable thud, Bucky’s legs give out, and he slides his arms off the side of his sink and onto the tiled floor next to the toilet. At this point, he considers throwing up in hopes of resetting his bodily functions, but he’s worried about passing out.

Bucky Barnes is an expert at wallowing in self-hate, guilt, and depression too. He wonders if he could start putting that on a resume. Almost every waking moment (which is a lot – he can’t sleep either) is spent drowning in his own mind. It is violent. Debilitating. Nauseating.

Ten minutes later, Bucky is still wheezing and the alarm is still SOMEHOW beeping. He knows it isn’t a bomb, _he knows god fucking damnit,_ but his mind will not let him forget how he lost his limb. With each faint beep, phantom pains begin to throb from his shoulder, radiating down the seemingly identical mechanical contraption.

It is at this point that Barnes begins to wish he had a knife close by to saw off his arm. Immediately he feels tears begin to prickle at the edge of his eyes; fighting every instinct that tells him to deal with this alone, he gives up and feebly grasps for his cell phone still tucked into his jeans. This isn’t his first rodeo, and it certainly doesn’t seem like it will be his last.

But this is a bad episode. Worst one in months.

Hyperventilating now, the impulsive thoughts are accelerating and he can’t see and he _just wishes that bomb finished the job_ and

“Hello?”

For a second Bucky hears an annoying whining sound before he realizes that he is the one making it into the phone. He chokes on a sob.

“James? Are you there? I need you to breathe, okay? Just like we always practiced. You still do the four breaths in right?”

He nods before he realizes the voice on the phone cannot see him. “Yes.” He hisses out before attempting to inhale.

“That’s fantastic, I’m glad you’re still doing that. In….”

He sucks in breaths in frantically. One. Two. Three. Four.

“Are you home?”

“Yea.” Exhale.

He begins to focus on the surrounding sounds that he can hear on the other side of the phone. Light chatter, the clinking of glasses, utensils, and… a man quickly asking “is everything alright?”

Guilt begins to creep down his spine just like his sweat.

“Nat”, he croaks, trying to reposition the phone that his hand now feels glued to. “Nat if you’re bus- busy, please don’t worry, I’ll b-be fine.”

“Shut up Barnes. I should be there in 20 minutes at the latest. Can you work on breathing for me until then? But stay on the line.”

The shaking begins again and tears begin to stream down Bucky’s face. The male voice with Natasha asks hurriedly, “Nat…” and as soon as Natasha pulls the phone away hissing “what…” he zones out once more.

He feels awful for 1) having this panic attack in the first place, for 2) calling his ex to help him not kill himself, and 3) interrupting what is most assuredly a date on a Saturday night.

Bucky doesn’t deserve her friendship, all things considered.

“…cky. Bucky. Are you there? Say something or I’m going to call the ambulance I swear to-”

“M’here. S’fire alarm next door. Won’t stop. Brain won’t stop.”

The sound of tires screeching on tarmac making its way through the speaker should concern him but with Nat it hardly ever does.

“Gotcha.” She sighs. “I have a plus one. Says he can assist, but if you want me to leave him at a McDonalds, I can do that too.” Bucky hears a slight smile to her voice and light male “hey!” in the background.

Still feeling guilty, he asks, “if you think it’ll help, let’em help”.

Silence ensues aside from the small reverberations of Natasha’s erratic driving.

“I’m sorry-“ he starts, hiccupping. “You know I’ll be fine?”

She chuckles slightly, “I know, you big stubborn idiot. But I personally won’t be until I see to you myself. I’m never leaving you behind, you know that?”

Bucky sniffs. “Okay.”

Slumping his back against the tub, he begins to refocus on the violent splattering of water going immediately down the tub drain (and tries to not consider the water bill).

****

About 15 minutes later, he hears shouting in the hallway and winces. Natasha and her date must be here.

With a forceful shove, she opens the door to Bucky’s apartment, continuing to yell “-clearly you don’t have any common sense. Spaghetti? Who the fuck manages to burn spaghetti? Do the world a favor and either take cooking classes or order takeout. Forever. Insensitive dick.”

There’s frantic shuffling next door now and a couple of voices discussing how to get the alarm off. Nat drops her keys on the side table by the couch and runs towards the sound of running water. She peaks around the bathroom door.

“Hey.” She says, looking down and smiling sadly.

Bucky peels his eyes away from the tub to look at her. “Hey”, he croaks, face red and blotchy; sickly.

She sits cross legged across him and offers out her hand. “Bit not good?”

He swallows and extends his right, human arm, grasping her palm with his sweaty ones. “Bit not good.” Inhale. Exhale.

Nat rubs her thumb over the tops of his veins on his hands to sensorially distract him. It’s at this point that Bucky sees how stunning she looks this evening. Slim fitting black dress, hair pulled loosely up, gold earrings dangling from her lobes.

For the first time in 5 hours, Bucky attempts to smile. It’s more like a grimace. “Who’s the lucky guy?” Inhale. Exhale. Phantom pain.

She immediately rolls her eyes and lightly blushes. “You’re always happy to talk about anyone other than yourself, huh?” He attempts to shrug at that, smile dropping slightly.

“It’s just a casual blind date. One of my friends down at the fire station set us up – he’s fantastic, but almost like in a big brother type of way. I think we both know it isn’t going to work out but I mean, I’m always happy to have friends.” She waggles her eyebrows slightly and Bucky chuckles at that.

“You and your _friends_.”

She sticks her tongue at him, gazing up coyly. “I’m a simple gal, I see beautiful people, I melt.”

Nat lets his hand go and gently reaches behind him to turn off the tub water. Bucky braces himself for the beeping but he realizes that all is calm again next door. Air wooshes out of him and he shakily pushes his damp hair out from in from of his eyes. “Thank g _od.”_

She pats his leg and stands up, turning off the sink faucet as well. In the distance he hears his front door creak open again, and a cautious, “Natasha, everything okay?”, his heavy footsteps heading their way.

Nat adjusts her dress and hair before offering her hand down to Bucky. “Pft- more like thank Steve; I think he fixed the fire alarm.”

Immediately Bucky begins to feel his entire internal organs turn to ice. Before he can tell Natasha _no no no I don’t want him to see me like this please leave I’m okay now,_ Steve Rogers himself, decked out in a _suit_ steps into his grimy, slightly neglected bathroom.

Immediately, Steve gazes down and his face warps from slight concern, to recognition, to panic, and… embarrassment?

****

It’s been exactly one week and 18 hours since Bucky last spoke to Steve Rogers at the blood donation center.

Numbers were exchanged with promises to go grab a drink, with more incessant apologies from Steve, and even more “it’s fine” statements from the nurse.

Steve remembers reaching out to shake Nurse Barnes’ hand, and as soon as he grabbed it, Bucky paled and yanked his left arm immediately backward, breathing slightly hard.

Eyes widening, Steve apologized _again_.

“No, do-don’t worry about it. I have had a very long first day. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Bucky said, watching a flush creep up Steve’s neck.

Soon after that, Steve awkwardly climbed into his own Uber and headed home, waving lightly at Bucky beyond the window and before sinking back into his seat. Immediately he grabbed his phone and shot a text to Sam.

_S: Why am I so awkward?_

_S: Also I am in an Uber and did not puke again, thank you very much_

_Snap: … did you at least get his number tho_

Steve felt a weird giddy elation in his chest and immediately smiled. Oh god.

_S: Yea. I know it’s soon but I think I’m going to see if he wants to go down to that pub on 2 nd tmrw night_

_S: I forgot to ask about his shoe size_

_S: FOR SHOES SICKO_

_Snap: whatever man – I would have loved to hear you ask that seriously_

_Snap: did you see his arm? bet that dude has stories behind him_

_S: …_

_S: wat_

_S: no for real, what? which arm? I tried to shake his hand earlier and he looked like I had pulled a gun on him_

_Snap: YOU TALKED TO THIS DUDE FOR 30 MINUTES AND DIDN’T SEE HIS FAKE COOL ASS PROSTHETIC_

_Snap: everything about him screams army or something_

_Snap: man what were you even paying attention to_

_S: … sports_

_Snap: that’s a weird word for his “shoe size”_

_Snap: perv_

_Snap: no, but let me know how things go this weekend_

Horrified, Steve let out a breath of air and began to consider the million and one plus ways he could send a text to Bucky tomorrow, considering the awkward ending to their conversation earlier.

How could he not notice something like _that._

With a groan, Steve put his head in his hands and focused on the trying to feel something positive about being able to recognize the turns to his house he had started to memorize since moving.

****

At midnight the following evening, Steve is slumped in bed with another scotch in hand, blearily attempting to pay attention to the fifth Chopped episode and _absolutely not to his phone and the four consecutive messages he’s sent to Bucky Barnes over the course of the entire day._

(Hey! Steve Rogers here. If you don’t have any plans tonight, I’m thinking of going down to the pub on 2nd at like 9. Wanna join?) _read 2:03 pm_

(I also wanted to apologize again (lol I know) so if you do decide – drinks are on me this time man) _read 3:37 pm_

(Oh and send me your shoe size so I can get you a new pair) _read 4:09 pm_

(I hope everything is okay! Maybe another time! 😊 ) r _ead 7:45 pm_

With a sigh, Steve (who is definitely _not_ tipsy) grabs his phone again in frustration, looking over the texts and the irritating checkmark next to each bubble.

“Let’s make it five.” He says to himself, clumsily typing out: _hey if this was a fake # - if this isn’t barnes can u please delete these or let me know?_

_if it is I really hope you are doing ok – see you when I puke again_

_._

_._

_._

Steve resists the urge to toss his phone across the room, butterflies in his stomach being replaced by self-loathing and liquor; Bucky Barnes over the course of the following week becomes a gorgeous, intriguing memory.

****

So, about a week later, as Natasha realizes suddenly that the two men in question are currently looking scared _of one another,_ her eyebrows fly to up to her hairline.

“Do you know each other?” She asks with genuine excitement – she knows Bucky is a notorious hermit but also _notoriously attracted_ to pretty blondes with striking jawbones.

“Kinda-“ “We met once-“ They say at the same time; Steve begins to frown when he realizes Bucky is physically guarding himself now.

“I thought that was your last name, so I just wanted to tag along with Natasha to make sure everything was okay. I apologize if this is unhelpful to you; just say the words and I’ll go.”

Bucky is trying his hardest to not melt into the tiles below his legs. It’s almost infuriating how saccharine sweet this guy is. In fact – he has an unreasonable urge to piss Steve off.

“S’all good. Sure you wanted to see the worst of me anyway. Only time I’m interesting.”

Natasha grabs Bucky’s arm and supports him at his side, hoisting him to stand. She excuses herself to go search for a Gatorade and his medication in his kitchen cabinet.

Steve stands awkwardly outside of the bathroom doorway, gazing at Bucky as he vibrates slightly against his sink, arms crossed across his chest. He notices the slight difference in the joint appearances, and Steve finally understands what Sam was talking about.

“I’m glad you’re okay. I was worried after…” Steve starts.

Bucky cuts him off with a sharp, “I’m fine.”

Steve “hmms” and gazes around the rest of Bucky’s apartment living room. It’s not large by any means but it looks cozy and quaint, for what it is. A small smile plays at his lips when he spots a signed baseball on display near his TV.

“You said you played right?” pointing in the general direction of the case.

Since Bucky was looking for a fight, he wasn’t really prepared for that at all. “What?”

“The baseball.”

“Ah. Uh. Yeah. Through high school.”

“Cool. And after?”

Bucky makes a point to shift his arm and the gears hiss with their daily reminder. “Nope.” He says, making sure to pop the p sound.

Steve shifts to look at Bucky with apologetic eyes and just seeing that look drives him up the wall. “Rogers, if you even begin to apologize to me for something you had nothing to do with I swear to god I’ll-“

Before he can finish Nat strides back in forcing a glass of chocolate milk and medicine into his hands. (“That’s all I could find.”)

As he takes a swig he doesn’t let go of Steve’s sight, and he thinks about the many ways he could have ended his sentence. _Crack your teeth in. Bruise your ~~pretty~~ face. ~~Tie you up.~~ ~~Kiss you.~~_

Inhale. Exhale. He looks down. “Sorry.”

Steve (the bastard) smiles. “It’s okay.”

Like the tattletale it is, Bucky’s stomach gurgles with hunger. He hasn’t been cooking a lot for himself this week.

“Listen, I didn’t intend to break up your date night. I could cook something, but I can’t, so would you all like some pizza if I ordered it? As a thank you?”

He pauses for a moment. Fingers fidgeting with the end of his shirt. 

"At least until my meds kick in, I could probably use some company-" 

Natasha clasps her hands together and regards Steve. “I don’t mind. I’m not a big fancy dinner person anyway. What about you Steve?”

Steve feels awkward being around Bucky, regardless of the situation. He so badly wants to ask about his ignored texts, but he knows how much Bucky is struggling at the moment. He’ll sacrifice his childish feelings to make sure Bucky and Nat are comfortable (because that’s what he does).

"Just don't get olives." 

Steve notices a small smile play on Bucky's lips. "No olives. Got it." 

****

An hour later, all three of them are piled on Bucky’s couch, watching a thriller and demolishing a large pizza. Bucky is noticeably calmer, as well as Nat who is cuddle up to Bucky’s left side (who is wearing Bucky’s clothing but he’s trying not to pry).

Steve smiles to himself and considers Natasha a lost cause as far as he is concerned romantically. Friend however… he’s going to try to hold on to her for as long as he can. For a few hours, normalcy and peace finds its way into Steve’s heart.

He thinks he has more of a thing for stubborn brunettes anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> I'd love any and all feedback you guys might have for this one - I want to keep it light because it WILL get darker (sorry ?) I also might be putting a BDSM tag on here l o l
> 
> Hope you are well :)


	3. Bagels & Lox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry not sorry for the delay in posting - life has been really... alive here lately. I encourage you all to continue to stay engaged with your communities during this time. Black Lives Matter resources: https://justiceinjune.org/ 
> 
> Captain America wouldn't hesitate to call out fascists and racists, neither should you <3

It’s about 1 am when Nat finally yawns in defeat, stretching her arms up in the air and slowly ungluing herself from Bucky’s side.

Steve runs his hands through his hair and quietly stands up, before cleaning their trash off Bucky’s coffee table. He peers up to look at the man in question, who is snoozing quietly, lips parted slightly and long locks covering most of his face.

Something inside his chest squeezes and Steve swallows down a sigh. He settles for a slight smile instead, quickly ducking his head down to pick up the empty boxes and head to the kitchen.

He pads over to the counters and gently sets the stuff down as Natasha pours out their drinks in the sink.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight.”

Steve washes his hands in the sink as Nat wipes her own with a paper towel.

“I should be thanking you. I can’t say this is how I thought our date was going to go but I think it went well, all things considering.”

Her eyes crinkle a little at that.

“You know that’s not what I mean, Steve.” Nat runs her hands through her hair, now pulled out of style she had earlier.

“I don’t mind, really. Part of my job.”

“Yeah, but most men probably would be furious if their date would drop everything for their ex. Quit selling yourself short Rogers - you’re a fantastic guy.”

Steve blushes slightly, rubbing the back of his next with his slightly damp hand. His eyes widen as soon as her words register with him, however.

“You two dated? For how long?”

Nat takes a final swig of her water before turning away and dumping the remains in the sink.

“It’s… complicated.”

Steve purses his lips. Did he get the wrong vibes from Bucky? Did he misread him completely?

Nat continues before turning back to face him, “How do you know each other anyway? You didn’t really explain that either.”

“That’s complicated too. Probably less so, though.”

Nat smiles and shakes her head. “Seems like that gives us another reason to go out again.”

Steve blinks at that, lips slightly parted with surprise.

“Wanna go get some platonic pasta at some point next week?”

“Platonic pasta? I’ll need to get a video of that or Sam won’t believe you ever said it.” Steve does his best not to laugh but grins. “But sure thing.”

She takes a step forward and places a light kiss on his cheek. “Tonight was fun. I’m also down for more, uh, fun whenever… with no strings attached mkay? But just pasta? Fine by me as well.”

Steve tries not too blush more but his body naturally betrays him. “I….”

She grins and steps past him into Bucky’s bedroom to collect her things. “You’re too good for me Rogers…”

Natasha’s voice trails away and Steve sighs before checking his phone. One text message from Sam 2 hours ago. ( _Tell me how it went with nat!!!!!)_

Steve quickly taps out a ( _it went well… text tmw_ 😊) before he goes to shove it in his pants pocket. But he freezes before it is all the way in.

His brain fast forwards into checking on something and before he realizes it, Steve is standing behind the couch where Bucky is snoozing, phone clinched in his hand.

Going back to his 6 texts to Bucky, Steve goes to type out one more.

_(Nat and I just left, hopefully we didn’t leave too much of a mess. Goodnight!)_

“Are you ready to leave? I can drive you home.” Nat whispers behind him by the door, heels grasped in one hand and keys in the other.

“Uhm. Yeah. Just a sec.”

Steve hits send before he can think about it too much. He wills his ears to hear some sort of text alert noise from anywhere near Bucky’s body.

He sighs and turns to walk over to Nat as she unlocks the door. A small buzz vibrates from one of the corners of the sectional. Steve feels simultaneously relieved and hurt. Bucky gave him the right number after all.

She lifts one eyebrow as high as it can go with a small smirk.

“What?”

“Nothing, Rogers.”

Quickly, they shut the apartment door and lock it behind them. Natasha slips her heels back on and adjusts Bucky’s clothes. “A good look, huh?”

“Honestly, you could probably make a potato sack look nice.”

She bats her eyelashes at Steve. “You better flatter Bucky just as much when you see him next.”

He gapes at her a bit as they sleepily head to the parking lot, climbing inside Nat’s pristine car.

“What makes you say that?” He asks, pulling his seatbelt on.

Nat opts to put on chapstick rather than her belt. “Just a feeling.”

*****

“M’pfh.”

Bucky slowly opens his eyes and gets a front row seat to a sizeable drool stain on his couch. Slight pain radiates down the left side of his neck and shoulder to where his prosthetic connects to his joint. It isn’t nearly as bad as last night, but it’s a painful and embarrassing reminder, nonetheless.

He sits up right and fingers the couch crevices for his phone. When he finds it, he presses the home button to check the time: 7:05 am.

Trailing down he sees two separate messages and expands the notification. One from Nat and one from (big sigh here), Steve.

His stomach clinches with guilt a little at that. Before he overthinks it, he types out a reply. He figures he owes Steve a lot right now.

( _I slept fine. Thank you for coming with Nat, and for cleaning up._ ) He pauses. ( _Again, sorry about the date. I.O.U?)_

Bucky tossed his phone back on the couch and continued with his morning routine (piss, pills, coffee, shower). By the time he was done, he was a little tired again from the other night but he didn’t want to go immediately back to sleep; instead he settled on spending some quality time by himself in the apartment… cleaning. A checkmark in the James Barnes productivity chart, he noted to himself. 

Gazing around the living room, he was pleasantly surprised by how ‘normal’ it looked. The bathroom however… with a grimace he grabbed all the cleaning supplies in his home and became hyper focused on the work.

2 hours later, with sweat gleaming on his forehead, his old basketball shorts stained with bleach, and a small bruise forming on his hip from walking directly into the sink corner, Bucky emerged feeling content and thoroughly distracted. He made sure to ignore the cracks in his mirror from the last time he punched it during an intense episode.

* _bzzt*_

His head swings back over to his phone and watches the screen light up with a notification alert. His gut clenches a little and he also chooses to ignore the possibilities of why.

With an incredibly *normal* fashion, he snatches his phone back up.

_Steve: Glad to hear it! And it’s not big deal. The night was great. Feeling okay? (8:46 am)_

_Steve: I don’t know how crazy your Sundays get but I would be down for brunch or something? (10:04 am)_

Bucky’s lips pull up slightly. ( _Sure. I’ve been cleaning though – not really in the mood to go outside today. I can grab us some bagels from my corner store though? Lox? Egg and cheese?)_

The response is instantaneous.

_Steve: Lox! Please. I have salad stuff I need to use, I can bring that too? (10:11 am)_

So essentially a picnic. In his home. The night after Steve sees his mental breakdown and after Bucky has ignored him for a week. He slaps his hand to his forehead and runs a shaking hand through his hair.

This guy is unbelievable.

( _Cool. Noon okay?)_

_Steve: Yup – see you soon (10:15 am)_

Bucky essentially sprints back to his bathroom for a second shower right after that.

*****

Noon apparently for Steve Rogers is 11:40.

Bucky is frantically choosing what shirt to wear when he hears the *rat tat tat* of his knocker. Settling for a plain graphic tee and sweatpants, he pulls his hair up in a bun quickly before heading to the door.

When opened, he sees a slightly pink faced Steve holding two cups of coffee and a reusable grocery bag over his shoulder. Thankfully, Bucky notices that he is also wearing plain clothes and didn’t over dress for this (because this isn’t a date… no way).

“Welcome back.”

Steve steps past and places the coffee and bag onto the kitchen counter. “Sorry I’m early, my ride was faster than I expected.”

He begins to unpack the salad ingredients. “Not sure what kind of coffee you take, I just got a black one for you.”

Bucky watches him for a moment as he fumbles around his small kitchen. It’s kind of endearing to see how much he looms over the limited space, much like Bucky does himself. “Black is fine.”

Steve hums at that and begins to assemble what looks to be a cucumber, red onion, and feta salad.

“You look better.” Steve adds before he catches himself.

“Thanks.”

He notices Bucky frown a little at that and proceeds to mentally stuff his feet in his mouth.

Before he can apologize again, Bucky pads up next to him and tries his best not to overcrowd Steve’s space as he reaches for a couple of plates in the overhead drawer for their bagel assortment.

It’s a partially lost cause though; Bucky ends up having to lean slightly over Steve’s right side to get them. He ends up pressing against Steve just a little.

“Sorry –“

“I –“

Steve does his best to scoot the other way, his cheeks becoming pink once again. He doesn’t mean to but his eyes betray him, Steve looks slightly up at Bucky’s arm and can see the slight distinction from where human meets machine.

It’s awe inspiring and devastating at the same time.

As Bucky brings the plates back down, he makes a point to look Steve dead in the eyes. He makes another mental note that Steve looks at him like a curious, open child; if only he could not be so damn self-conscious. 

“We can eat on the couch again. Don’t have a table.” He adds, padding back into the living room.

Steve swallows and finishes the salad. “Bowls?”

A voice rumbles back, “Where the plates were. I think you’ll remember.”

He sighs and grabs the bowls with ease, his memory peppering in the fact that Bucky seemingly towers over him in every aspect despite the fact that they are virtually the same height. 

After a few minutes, Steve makes his way back to the couch, salads and coffees balanced in hand.

They eat in relative silence – apart from Steve saying the lox was pretty good for a non-NYC bagel and Bucky noting that Steve’s salad is pretty good for a salad – before Bucky turns on a random old football game.

Steve crumples up the bagel wrapper and tosses it into the empty bowl with a groan before flopping back with defeat into the couch, hands cradling his stomach. “M’full.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything and sips slowly on the coffee for a bit, seemingly engaged in the game.

After a while though, Steve begins to feel like he’s imposing himself and shifts upright to get his stuff back together to leave. But Bucky finally breaks the silence, instead.

“I owe you an apology.”

Steve looks over at him, his eyes still looking at the TV, perhaps less focused now and more distant.

“I was having a… difficult week. You shouldn’t have had to feel the effects of it too.” Bucky sighs and sets the coffee down, turning to fully look at Steve now.

“It happens.” Steve adds, shrugging a little.

Frowning, Bucky rubs his forehead. “It does. More than I’d like it to.”

Steve goes to speak again but Bucky cuts him off with, “And don’t apologize for it. I was the dick here. I wasn’t exactly transparent when we first met.”

He waits for Steve to chastise him for this but instead, Steve rubs his **~~big~~ **hands over his jeans, leaning forward to genuinely engage him. “I didn’t expect you to, Buck. You were in your work environment.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything to that, his brain is too busy emphasizing that Steve has already given him another nickname.

Steve smiles, “You didn’t really see me how I normally am either. Believe it or not, I don’t normally projectile vomit on a regular basis.”

That conjures a chuckle from Bucky’s lips. “God, I hope not.”

Pause.

“So uh… starting over?” He holds out his arm and hand in an offering.

Steve’s baby blue eyes are sparkling.

“Starting over.” He grabs Bucky’s hand and offers a firm but playful handshake.

While cleaning up the remains of their meal, Bucky decides to press a slightly more concerning topic to help him gauge how he’s going to advance his situation with Steve.

“So, what’s the status with Natasha now?”

Steve “hmm”s, stuffing the remaining ingredients back into his grocery bag. “She asked me out again for platonic pasta.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at that because he just knows. “With a helping of herself for dessert?” He can basically hear Steve’s jaw hitting the floor.

“Jesus!”

“Look dude, I could care less. I just want you to know that if you hurt her, I’ll kick your ass.”

Steve looks affronted at that statement, and he crosses his arms across his chest. Bucky does his best not to openly swoon at the sight. “I told her platonic pasta was fine enough. Not to mention I think I’m scared of her kicking my ass herself, to tell you the truth.”

Bucky barks out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Steve collects the rest of his things and heads for the door. Bucky opens it and waits as Steve lingers in the doorframe, looking like he’s trying to find the right words to say.

“Thank you for the bagels.”

Bucky blinks at him. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Steve sheepishly rubs the back of his head. “You know I wouldn’t be opposed to more of this.”

Feeling emboldened, Bucky stretches his arm overhead on the door frame and leans into Steve’s space again. “More non-platonic bagels?”

Immediate red cheeks again. “I….”

Bucky smirks. “I’d love to. Just tell me what your schedule is like.”

Steve’s smile is like the goddamn sun.

“See you later, Stevie.”

“Bye Buck.”

Steve turns around and painstakingly makes his way down Bucky’s hall, giving him plenty of time to survey what he can only describe as America’s Ass.

As soon as Steve disappears with a wave as the elevator doors close, Bucky is locking his door and beelining it to his bedroom.

With a groan, he throws himself on the bed and realizes to his pleasure and dismay that he is overwhelmingly, painstakingly hard.


	4. Something to Look Forward To

** Chapter 4 **

**Monday**

Steve is only .05 hours into his 48 hour shift before Sam begins to poke and prod him for information regarding Steve’s very unhelpful “he bought me bagels and lox ☹” text he sent Sunday evening.

“Come on….. tell me everything! I thought you were with Nat the whole night?”

Steve sets his overnight bag with a huff onto the devastatingly old xl twin bed in the station’s bedroom. He starts shuffling the few items he has out onto the bed. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Boxers. Deodorant.

“I was. Sort of. Some stuff went down and turns out Bucky used to date Natasha a while ago, and he had what I think was an episode of PTSD while we were out for dinner. They must still be good friends, she dropped everything to go check in on him.”

Sam crosses his arms in front of him with a huff.

“Sorry. I for sure thought this was gonna work out for you, you’re definitely up her alley as far as type.”

Steve chuckles at that. “Nah, I don’t mind. I think you’ve given me a new friend though. It’s not every day you see someone with that kind of loyalty.”

Sam nods at that.

“And Bucky?”

Steve closes his eyes.

“We’re talking again. I wish I wasn’t so intense to begin with, I had no idea…”

He takes a deep breath. “But I’m… intrigued. There’s just something about him that I haven’t felt since… well you know.”

Sam does know but doesn’t say _Peggy_. Sam also knows how broken Steve was when she had decided to go across the world to live out her dreams of backpacking across Europe. He had to pick up the pieces. Steve of course had the option to go with her, but decided to stay claiming he’d be selfish to just abandon his ‘responsibilities’ in favor of a “self-indulgent” lifestyle.

Sam also can’t remember the last time Steve actually took a break from work or went on some sort of vacation that lasted longer than 2 or 3 days.

He walks up to Steve and slaps him on the back of the shoulder.

“Just be careful, okay? Don’t expect to fix this guy. He clearly still has some stuff to work on, and you are not a therapist.”

“Yeah.” Steve frowns a little before walking out of their room and into the lounge area. He doesn’t see Sam’s eyebrows crinkle in concern.

“I’m serious. He’s not a job.” He shouts, but Steve chooses to mentally change the subject.

Over on the far-right wall is a massive window that provides a sectional view of the city they watch over. For a Monday, things seem as quaint as usual, and much to Steve’s delight, there is evidence of fall painting the tips of the leaves on the trees across the street.

“Hm…” Steve ponders as he takes it all in before a wicked smirk plays at the edge of his lips. He swivels around and looks Sam dead in the eye as he comes out the bedroom.

“Man it sure looks-“ Steve starts…

…but Sam starts frantically yelling while sprinting toward him with a look of pure rage on his face, “DON’T YOU DO IT STEVEN, I SWEAR TO GOD-“; another voice attending to the trucks off to the side of the living quarter shouts back, “YOU BITCH, DON’T YOU DARE-“

Clint. It must be with that rustic and tired voice.

“IS SOMEONE TRYING TO SAY THE Q WORD? REALLY?” Another shouting voice comes from a distance. Stern and feminine. Val (or Valkyrie, as Sam has dubbed her after she kicked his ass in a wrestling match) must also be on duty tonight.

He’s grinning like a psycho now as he runs away from Sam, taking a hopeful leap onto the fire pole for a quick escape from an inevitable tackle.

“ _Quie-“_ Steve tries to finish as he rushes towards the concrete floor before being overtaken by the sound of Clint pounding on the truck horn.

Finally landing, he cackles and grabs his stomach from laughing so hard before the air suddenly wooshes out of him, eyes bugging wide when he realizes Sam has _leapt_ from the middle of the pole and onto Steve’s back, pushing him to the ground.

“You bastard.” He hisses, punching Steve in the side.

The truck engine roars to life and Clint leans out of the door window with a sly smile. “I’ll run him over if you want me to.”

Val’s work boots step into Steve line of sight, dangerously close to his nose. “Maybe we could just sew his mouth up, Saw style.”

He blinks up at her under long eyelashes, “Come on Val-“

“Don’t “come on Val” me. Even if you learned it quickly, Lord knows you’d figure out a way to make sign language loud.”

Clint cackles and proceeds to sign _nice_ to her, clamoring out of the truck after shutting it back off. He steps over and offers a hand to hoist Steve back upright.

“So. What’s the plan for tonight?”

Sam looks at his watch, considering. “I’m thinking about starting dinner in about 15 if someone wants to help. Then games until we get an inevitable call?”

Steve brushes his pants off, years of dust and soot and god knows what comes flying off into the air. “Sure thing,” he wheezes, being reminded once again that laughter, dust, and exercise tend to run a proverbial train on his asthma.

He gradually makes his way back into the bedroom, fishing for his inhaler. He exhales and presses the inhaler against his mouth, taking in a swift puff before repeating the action. The automatic “being able to breathe again” feeling sends his head rushing.

With a huff, Steve flops onto the bed and reaches for his phone. Both he and Bucky didn’t say much over text during the course of the *one* day since they’ve seen each other. Just repeated ‘thank you’s and promises of reaching out to repeat dinner or something soon.

Trying not to over think his choice of words (because god knows he keeps replaying Bucky putting his arm over his head in the doorway over and over again), Steve frantically types the best thing he can think of.

_S: I’m bored._

He sets his phone in his lap and zones out for a bit looking at the tiled ceiling.

The response is almost instantaneous and Steve tries to repress the giddy school-girl feeling in the base of his stomach.

_B: I take it ur at work?_

_S: Yea. 1 st hour of 48. :C _

_B: Yikes. Do you get to sleep?_

_S: Basically whenever we can. Stuff is usually worse at night._

_B: Hmm. Pyromaniacs don’t sleep._

_S: I’d put money on it._

_S: So how are you doing?_

_B: I’m fine. No mental breakdowns for 24 hours so go me._

Steve frowns a bit at that.

_S: Sorry, I’m not trying to pester lol. I mean like in general, really_

_B: No one threw up on me today at work._

_B: So my day was a bit boring too._

Steve’s legs curl into his stomach. Like he’s 13 again.

_S: all it takes is a TB skin test threat and I’ll happily make you excited_

_S: Make your day exciting*_

_S: shit_

_B: HA_

_B: nah. Your jeans work just fine._

Steve rereads this 5 more times.

_S: huh?_

_B: jeans._

_S: …yes…?_

_B: you look good in them._

Steve chokes a little and presses his legs together when he realizes what Bucky is getting at.

“What am I doing,” He squeaks to the ceiling tiles who look a bit worse for wear. Bucky Barnes is flirting once again. He may as well try to return the favor.

_S: I could say the same thing about your sweatpants_

_B: hmmmmm…._

_B: noted._

And Steve has absolutely no idea what this is going to imply but he is losing his damn mind.

*image received*

_B: this is typically what I end up doing when I get off_

Steve’s eyes open wide at that sentence, and is _~~disappointed~~_ relieved when he takes a gander at the image Bucky has sent him. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, just a front camera shot of Bucky sitting on the couch, legs propped up on the coffee table and the tv glittering in the background. Steve sees two apple cores on a plate by his feet and makes a mental note to find his mom’s apple pie recipe.

But oh praise God, Bucky is in those damned sweatpants again. He knows what he is doing, that bastard.

_S: my typical night doesn’t look that much different. I hate going out during the week_

_B: same_

_S: are you trying to get fired or something?_

_S: cause I don’t know how you can work in the medical field if you keep pushing doctors away with all those apples_

_B: …what_

_B: I cannot believe you just sent me that_

_B: Steve are you actually 76 years old?_

Steve huffs out a laugh and runs a calloused hand through his blond locks.

_S: sometimes_

_B: it’s cute_

“Hnnnnnnng” Steve whines and presses his face into his pillow.

_S: you’re killing me._

_S: what does your weekend look like?_

_B: I have a meeting to go to after work on Friday, but Saturday is good. I have to run some errands though_

_S: I can tag along, we could cook or something?_

_B: mmm sounds good_

_B: remind me Friday night, I’m sure I won’t forget but sometimes I can get foggy after my meetings_

_B: nice to have something to look forward to, ya know?_

_S: okay, yeah I’ve got you_

_S: we’re getting ready to fix dinner, I’ll msg you later if that’s ok?_

_B: don’t worry about it, you msg whenever you want._

_S:_ _😊_

Steve slowly gets out of the bed and sets his phone on his nightstand. He’s still a little giddy from what is an arguably tame conversation and he groans to himself. He’s got a crush, bad.

He makes his way into the small kitchen where Sam is trying to cut up onions, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Why is this so hard?”

“Aren’t you supposed to chew gum or something?”

Sam proceeds to blow a gum bubble, tears still flowing, eyes red. “It’s not working.”

Steve picks up another knife and gets to work along side him, elbowing him gently in the side. “I got it. You start on the chicken.”

“Thanks man.”

As Sam begins to prep for the rest of the meal, Steve can’t help but drift off in a daydream while he chops. A daydream filled with a pair of gray sweatpants.

2 hours later, Steve and the rest of the crew are stuffed and lounging around the station living(ish) room. It’s about 9 pm and Steve can’t help but rest his eyes on the couch.

The alarm goes off above them and everyone bolts to their feet, heading rapidly to their suit prep stations. Steve is abruptly awake.

“What do we got?” He shouts, methodically slipping into his gear. Pants. Straps. Boots.

Clint is preparing the truck and looking over the dispatch notes. “Looks like just medical response – woman, late 30s, says she fell down her stairs and broke her leg.”

Val assesses them before addressing Sam and Steve. “You two go, Clint stay here. We need a few more hands here in case something else happens while you are gone. I’ll go tell the rest of the staff.” She runs off around the corner and into the office area as they finish dressing.

Steve jogs past Sam as he finishes lacing up his boots.

“Getting slow old man?”

Sam grumbles and runs to catch up to him as they climb into the truck. Lights on, sirens going, garage door open. The address is not far away, they estimate their arrival time in a little over a minute. Anything over 5 minutes away goes to a different station, so they never have to worry too much about traffic.

Until today, that is.

“Come on you son of a bitch.” Sam hisses as he hits the horn at the SUV in the left lane refusing to get over to the side. “Are you getting their plates?” He asks, hitting the horn again before they merge to the side in the slowest way possible.

“Already ahead of you.” Steve furiously scratches the plate information on a piece a paper and sighs. Any time lost could cost someone their life, even if they are just going for a fall rescue and assessment scene.

They make a few more turns, and they arrive at a modest small home with a dog tied around the front porch and a young child crying behind the front screen door.

As the climb out and get their medical supplies, some neighbors start to come outside out of curiosity. One younger woman runs out to meet them.

“Is everything okay?” She asks, attempting to call the poor pooch over to calm him. 

Sam regards her passively. “We’re about to assess. Can you try to calm this dog down?”

She shakes her head and runs around to the side of the house. “Come here Baxter…” she coos.

“Thanks!” Steve shouts and opens the front door, putting on the kindest smile he can muster. The little girl is still crying, hiccupping in time with her breaths. “It’s okay honey, we’re here to help. Where is she?”

Steve gets down on one knee and looks at her face to quickly assess if she is okay. There are a couple of small bruises on the side of her neck and he makes a mental note to himself. “Stairs. She fell down…. I called like my teacher said…” The girl starts crying harder.

“You did good honey.” Steve arches up to give Sam the okay to go find the lady. He jogs down the hall.

“Are you hurt?”

The girl rapidly shakes her head no and Steve is thankful. He still plans on telling the paramedics about the bruise though.

She looks up at him again but smiles a bit when she sees who’s behind him. The girl next door is on the porch and immediately reaches out for her, dog calmed down beside her. “Meg! Are you okay?”

The little girl runs past him and into her arms, bawling now. “Cece…. Ma just scared me, there was yelling and when I moved, and he moved… she… she…”.

Cece shushes her and hugs her tight, her eyebrows crumpling in concern. “It’s not your fault baby. Not your fault.”

Steve notices the girl shakes her head no again into Cece’s stomach. Cece looks up at him and whispers, “We need to talk.”

His stomach sinks and he prays that she didn’t just confirm his suspicions on where that bruise came from. He nods and abruptly turns to find where Sam is at.

Sure enough they are at the bottom of the stairs into the home’s basement. “Everything okay down there? Paramedics just pulled up so we’ll be getting you out of here soon enough Mrs…”

“I’m Grace.” She hisses as Sam is unhooking the blood pressure monitor from her arm.

“Nice to meet you, Grace.” He does his best not to over analyze the way her femur is jutting to the side.

There are more voices in the house now and Steve makes way for the paramedic team.

“She’s stable, but I need someone to come with me for a moment.” Two men go down the stairs next to Sam.

“I’m Katy. How can I help?” Asks a trailing paramedic in the doorway of the kitchen.

He briefs her as the walk back through the house and to the front door. “Are you trained in child abuse recognition?”

She sighs and nods. “A little. There isn’t a lot we can do other than file a report to the police and notify CPS. Where is the child?”

They head outside and find Cece sitting on the porch with both the dog and Meg in her lap. Katy crouches down and beams a smile at them both. “That sure looks cozy.”

Meg hesitantly unclenches her hands on Cece’s shirt and looks at her curiously. “You said we needed to talk?” Steve asks, looking at Cece.

She gently shakes Meg. “Honey can I tell them? I promise you it’ll be okay. They can help. Both you and your Ma.”

She starts crying again but shakes her head yes.

“Is that a yes?”

She nods again.

“Alright hon.” Cece looks at them both, furious tears prickling her eyes. “I’ve been living here for 5 years and have known Meg and her family since she was born. Everything had been going great until about 8 months ago when Meg’s dad disappeared on them. No note, nothing.”

The dog begins to whine again.

“Grace started dating around again which is fine but this last one was a major piece of shit. He’s abusive and manipulative as fuck. Well they aren’t dating anymore but he still comes by from time to time… asking for god knows what and being incredibly persistent;” Cece shakes her head, mad.

“I guess he snapped again today and finally did it. Hurt them in more ways than one. Grace is going to swear up and down that she fell by herself but I know it was Travis. I just know it was. I don’t give a fuck anymore especially if Meg is getting hurt now too.”

The paramedic leans forward and puts her hands out toward the girl. “Can I have a look at your face, please?” She slowly unglues herself from Cece and gingerly puts her head forward for Katy. The bruise is growing and looks like two rough pinches, not choking marks at least.

Steve is vibrating with anger. “Let me go get a cop to take a statement.” He starts to step off the porch but is met with Cece shouting, “No!”.

“No.” she says again, shaking. “He is one.”

Yet again, Steve’s stomach sinks and his chest hurts.

Katy looks up at Steve with sad, wide eyes. 

“We’ll get it taken care of, I promise you.” She says, grabbing Cece’s hand and giving it a stabilizing shake. “We’re going to need you to come with us to the hospital though, if you can?”

The other paramedics emerge with Grace on a gurney and Sam trailing behind them.

“MAMA!” Meg shouts and bolts up, causing the dog to start barking again.

Grace is silently crying and grabs her daughters’ hand. “I’m sorry baby.” Meg gives it a squeeze and begins crying again.

Katy stands up, grabbing a side of the gurney. “Grace, Cece and Meg will be coming with us. We’ve been briefed. No police have been notified, okay?”

Grace looks up at her with horrified eyes, her mouth slightly ajar before she utters and breathy, “Okay… yeah. Okay.”

They cart her to the ambulance and begin putting them in.

Katy shakes Steve and Sam’s hands. “Thanks guys. We’ll get them taken care of. Promise.” She smiles again as she backs away and into the drivers seat, slamming the door.

For the first time in 30 minutes, Steve can breathe.

“You okay?” Sam asks as they collect their bags.

Of course not. Absolutely not. He hates calls like this that turn out to be 50x worse that what they initially seem to be.

“Yeah. Let’s get back.”

They methodically make their way back to the station and Steve suddenly wants to sleep for 1000 years.

Before he decides to take a nap, he checks his phone.

Bucky has sent another picture, same position, same pants, but 5 more apple cores on the plate. Steve makes an involuntary guffaw and feels some of the tension from earlier roll off him. He smiles and cradles his phone to his chest.

Yeah.

Something to look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Life has been life-ing once again, I just got two new jobs. I'm going to update this when I can, I promise! This bad boy is going to be a sloooowww build but I for one deeply enjoy a flirty and teasing Bucky.


End file.
